Satorr
=Physical Description= *'Appearance' Satorr is massive. Years of constant training and battle show clearly on his body. His skin is covered in deep scars, the most notable of which are the two on his left knee, the spear wound between the shoulder and neck, and a deep divot on his right forearm. He keeps his head shaved, saying it helps him concentrate; not having hair in his eyes. Satorr loves to go around shirtless, showing off his bulging muscles... allways flexing and striking poses. His eyes are a deep red. *'Armor' Satorr makes his own armor and loves to show it off. He has several suits, and switches betwee green iron, golden steel, and thorium. In battle, he wears Imperial plate. =Personality= Satorr is a brute with good intentions. While he comes off vulgar, ill-tempered, and uncivilized, he really does mean well. He holds women in the highest regard, and acts with a sort of unyielding chivalry. While he won't swear or break anything in front of a lady, he's not above beating the snot out of anyone who would dare mistreat a woman. In the presence of better friends, however, Satorr is a pretty fun guy. While he usually ends up in a drunken fist fight or smashing furniture, he's nice to people who've earned it. All in all, Satorr is a hard laughing, quickly infuriated, mis-understood, orcish grunt with an awkward splash of honor knight. =History= The child of Dalkaz and Baera Gnarlflesh was named Satorr. Dalkaz was a scout. He would be killed by arrow fire before Satorr was one. When he turned five, Satorr’s mother became ill and died. His uncle, a drunkard axe smith raised him... kinda. Larkan Gnarlflesh was a kind man, but often saw another pint as a higher priority than being a father. Being so wasted all the time, the grunts in the traveling warband raised Satorr the half of the time when Larkan was asleep or passed out. They taught Satorr how to fight and how to hunt. Larkan taught him of the forge and how to buy good ale. When he turned sixteen Satorr snuck away from the warband while camped in the barrens. Satorr found a dead grunt and took his armor, sneaking into an Orcish battalion under a fake name. He fought for many years, narrowly dodging internment camps, pushing his way through the suffocating lethargy that came with the fall of ghul’dan. Moving from fighting force to fighting force, battling foe after foe, he soon realized that the numbers of his squads kept getting smaller. There were fewer and fewer free orcs to fight with him. Thrall came and rose to power as the new Warchief. While Satorr did not fight by his side in those battles, he did gain word of it. The warband he was in at the time swore their allegiance to this new leader and began making the march to where they last heard Thrall was. Along the way they were captured by a human… a high ranking soldier. A pig of a man. Satorr would finally taste the filth of an internment camp. The camp was small, feeble, and temporary... but strong enough to hold the small group of orcs. Feeling the lethargy setting in without battle to spur him on, Satorr refused to fall into the stupor he saw his comrades claimed by. Paying a half-mad witch doctor (another prisoner of the human band) in stolen silverware, Satorr was given his greatest burden in life. The berserker rage. The blood rage fueled his body as well as demon influence or shamanistic connection to energy. It kept him what he would call sane. Eventually freed by another band of orcs on the march to Thrall’s new land, Durotar, Satorr would feel the strain of such potent fury in a world outside the camp. It took many months to get under control, but now the only thing that can excite the blood rage are fury and remembering his many bloody fights and battles. Satorr would join up with the smaller band that saved him, a group of wolf-riders. They gave him his companion and friend, the brown wolf Gritpaw. The scourge wars came and went. Satorr saw that fight as well. Afterward, Satorr got tired of fighting so hard and following orders on land. He purchased a small ship, and dubbed it the Shattered Anchor. After picking up a crew in Booty Bay Satorr would begin his infamous short stint as an unguilded pirate. Those couple years took their toll on Satorr. Even at the peak of the success of his piracy he did poorly. The “peak” wasn’t very impressive. It was an embarrassment, really. He lived in near squalor most of the time. The hits were few and far between. Above the crushing financial problems, Satorr's personal life wasn't fairing either. He fell in love and was rejected. He was drunk constantly. To be honest… he was pathetic. Eventually his underpaid crew turned on him. As able a fighter as he was, he couldn’t fight off that many men in an ambush. Knocking him unconscious and leaving him to die on a sinking ship with his last loyal man, a troll named Kajindo, Satorr almost died in the waters outside of Ratchet bay. If it wasn’t for Kajindo, Satorr would have found his grave out there in the water. He woke on the beaches of The Barrens. Kajindo and Satorr eventually went their separate ways. Satorr moved from guild to guild, occupation to occupation, always being fired or pushed away for his volatile temper and stubbornness. Penniless and alone, somehow he eventually realized what he was doing. He disappeared for a while to get his head straight. He quit drinking so obsessively. He took up blacksmithing again. He started free-lancing his abilities to get some money going. He turned his life around. Today Satorr lives in a small open house above Ratchet. He runs a smithy out of the ground floor, even though he isn’t there most of the time. He spends most of his time training to be a better warrior, or having a little fun with the friends he’s made in his travels.